Binarysong
by yuuago
Summary: A unified collection of several short works all featuring Estonia as a central character. Varied genres, lengths, and pairings.
1. Opening note, Sunshowers, Est&Lat

**Opening Note**

_Binarysong_ will be a collection of various short things I have written over a long period of time, uploaded as chapters. These pieces are ones I feel are too old or do not have enough substance to be uploaded on their own. They are varied in genre, pairing, and mood; the thing they do have in common is that they all feature Estonia as a central character.

Each will be uploaded as a new chapter whenever I happen to do a new revision. Chapter-titles will mention characters and pairings when applicable. Summaries and ratings for individual works will be provided at the beginning of each chapter. Overall rating will change in accordance with new additions.

With that said, I hope readers will enjoy this collection.

* * *

Summary: Estonia and Latvia; caught in the rain. Rated E for Everyone.

Notes: This was a gift for my wife. Originally written June 03 2009; revised July 04 2010.

**Sunshowers**

It was a bright day. They spent it walking together in a flower-filled park, exchanging words and laughter, Latvia stepping briskly to keep up with Estonia's long strides. The air was filled with the scent of lilacs and all was warm and sun-touched.

The change came about suddenly. It started with drops, one, two, three. Estonia frowned and looked upward, then let out a startled sound as another drop landed on his glasses. Latvia looked up as well, and blinked rapidly as another drop hit him square between the eyes.

"Oh, it's raining!" he said.

"I can see that."

"But the sun's still out!"

Logical or not, it was starting to rain, and in little time it was pouring down. Estonia sighted a gazebo nearby and at his word they ran together through the rain, attacked mercilessly by the fat, heavy drops as they went. Soon the entire park was wet, the bright green grass and trees slick with rain. All the while the sun kept shining, its bright light making the world sparkle.

Though they ran, they didn't reach their shelter before it stopped. Soaked to the bone, their hair damp and dripping and their shoes squishing with every step, they found that as suddenly as it had come, the rain was gone, and all that was left was the sound of water drip drip dripping as it fell from the leaves.

They stopped. Estonia sighed, slipped off his glasses, and made a face as he tried to wipe off the droplets with the edge of his damp shirt. Latvia, he could tell, was grinning.

"What's that all about, hmm?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You're _soaked_!"

"Thank you, mister obvious. You are too, I see." Estonia smiled in spite of himself, and soon, they were both laughing.


	2. Whitecaps, EstFin

Summary: A disagreement caused Estonia and Finland to go their separate ways; after some time, they decide to reconcile. Rated E for Everyone.

Notes: This was part of a 500-word flash-fiction challenge. Originally written October 11 2009; revised July 04 2010.

**Whitecaps**

The wind blew gently. Its sound was hushed, kissing his ears, brushing through his hair as he looked out at the water. Estonia breathed in, considered, watched, wondered. It had been a while. When had he last seen him? Longer than he would have liked. Too long, perhaps.

He remembered their last conversation. They had stood on a sandy shore on a bright day, the sun warming their faces, the water rippling just gently as the wind played on it. Finland had taken a stick and drawn in the sand with its pointed end. He sketched out what they knew of the land, scribbling out territory, defining boundaries.

Strange how only a few words could make something go wrong. A remark stating no, that wasn't right, no really that isn't where that part ends, yes I'm sure, let me do it. When the stylus was handed to him he remedied the problem, but Finland shook his head. Said no, that's wrong, it doesn't end there, you drew that border too far north.

Strange, how sometimes they just couldn't agree. Strange, after that day they hadn't really spoken. Hadn't seen each other.

Estonia licked his lips and brought his chilly hands close to his mouth, blowing on them. It had been a few months since they had last seen each other. It wasn't unusual to go a few months without meeting, he reminded himself. The thought did little to reassure him. They had parted on a sour note, neither willing to admit that the other one was correct, nor willing to say that perhaps they had been mistaken, nor desiring to come to a compromise.

It was silly, really. Ridiculous. Estonia nibbled his lower lip and thought on it. There really hadn't been any good sense in that.

The twisting of his guts told him that really, it didn't matter. Perhaps Finland had been right, or perhaps not, but Estonia didn't care.

It didn't matter.

He ached to see him.

* * *

Finland chewed his lower lip and looked out at the water. It was choppy, whitecapped, rising and falling, and horribly cold too, no doubt. The sky was grey, the very sun chilled. A bit early in the year for all this, he thought.

Rubbing his hands together, he considered the wind, the clouds that looked almost like the kind to bring snow, building up and up, slowly. Deep inside, under those thoughts, he knew that he was distracting himself from what he really wanted to think about. It had been a long time since he had last seen Estonia.

He couldn't even remember what they had argued about. Some stupid, petty thing. Even so, superficial though it was, they had left each other irritated, going in different ways, the sand churned at the spot of their disagreement.

Stupid, that, and not much like either of them.

I should go see him, Finland thought. He missed him, his smile and talk, the sound of him singing.

The sea said quite plainly that he wouldn't leave that day. It didn't matter. The next, if the air was sweet and the weather was good. It had been too long.


	3. Hold Fast, EstFin

Summary: Early period; Finland takes care of Estonia after a raid leaves him injured. Rated E for Everyone.

Notes: Written in response to an on-the-spot rarepair drabble challenge. Written June 29 2009; revised July 04 2010. The healing song is inspired by some lines in canto 9 of the _Kalevala_.

**Hold Fast**

Noise and shouting and people running. The air was thick with fear, smelled of it, but there was an undercurrent of anger, too, and it was quickly rising.

They came on the boats, those ones. He had clashed against them before, and surely he would see them again - but that did not matter, as this moment was his only concern. Get everyone to safety. In the din and the smoke he could see him, that one with the wolf's grin on his face, huge as a mountain and wielding an axe big as a tree pulled up by the roots. There he was.

By all the gods, that one had caught sight of him, and was coming closer.

He didn't remember anything after that.

* * *

In the darkness he could hear singing. As he slowly regained consciousness he listened, steadily becoming more aware of the voice and the words.

A healing song.

_Blood, hold your spilling_

_But if it is in your mind_

_To flow swiftly_

_Then move in the flesh_

_And in the bones glide._

As the quiet words took shape, he cracked open his eyes, then shut them tightly. Though the light was dim, it stung. At that point he became acutely aware of the pain shooting through him and he let out a low groan.

"Ah, you're awake."

"Nngh." He opened his eyes once again and blinked slowly, forcing himself to adjust in spite of the pain, because in the dim light he saw a familiar face smiling at him with endlessly welcome warmth. "S-sss." His throat was dry. He wetted his lips and tried again. "Soome."

"Shhh." Two fingers pressed to his mouth. "Don't speak. Just rest."

Drink was offered, and he accepted. As he drank eagerly, the words continued, quiet as a breeze's whisper. "And so move in the flesh, and so flow in your path... You took quite a beating, my friend." A pause. "You'll be all right. You just need rest." Those words were accompanied by a quiet sigh and a gentle hand stroking his cheek. "Broken ribs. But he wasn't here long." Having said his piece, Soome resumed his singing.

They both knew that the time for healing would have to be quick, as that one would come again.


	4. The Man Who Sang The Wind, Est&Den

Summary: A fanciful alternate history of early Estonia and Denmark, told as a legend. One man can sing the wind, and the other covets it. Rated E for Everyone.

Notes: Written May 22 2009; revised July 04 2010. Was written for an Anonymous friend, who asked to be told a bed time story, one they had never heard before.

**The Man Who Sang The Wind**

Come here. Sit by me - yes. Now, listen.

Many years ago by the coast of the cold sea there lived a man whose words wove the wind. He could be found sitting on a rock by the shore, and the people who lived in the nearby town would come to him if they were to go out. He was the master at that spell, and in exchange for some kind words and drink he would sing the wind-song for those who needed to go out upon the water. In that way, he would give them good fortune and swift sailing.

When sailors travelled far across the sea they brought with them stories of the man who sang the wind. Those stories reached many who craved those spells for themselves, as the sea and the wind are cruel, rough mistresses to sailors. There was one man in particular who coveted the wind. He was a tall, rough warrior with a grin like a wolf, and when he heard the stories he decided to take his men and follow the trail, even if it meant travelling all the way across the cold sea.

And so that raider with the wolf-like grin took his warriors and sailed across the Baltic in search of the man who sang the wind. They sailed east, always searching and following the stories, until finally they had sailed almost the entire length of that stretch of dark water. Finally they came to the place where the wind-weaver lived.

The people of the town sighted the vessels of the boat-people, and in worry they shut themselves up in their homes, but the wind-singer did not move from his flat rock on the shore, and even when the boat-people landed, he did not move an inch. The warrior with the wolf-smile saw him and knew he was the man of the stories, and so he went up to him and spoke in the words of the people of the west.

The wind-weaver knew this language, and so when the raider demanded he tell him the spell he understood him completely. So he told that great pirate that he would give him the words, if in exchange he would never return with his ships and his men to that place. Well, the warrior smiled and told him that of course he would not return, as there was nothing in that far corner of the world that he and his people would want.

The wind-singer knew that this was a lie. He had seen the ships of the boat-people, and he had heard stories of them, and he knew that his own people had been attacked by them many a time in the years before. Even so, he smiled as if he knew nothing, and said that he would gladly tell the words. And so he gave the raider words, and they were in his own language. He told that leader to repeat the words three times, so that he would remember them.

The wind-weaver said that the spell only worked when one was a certain distance from shore, and that when it was to be spoken, one should shout the words as loudly as possible. Then he bid the warrior farewell.

The raider and his warriors went off again, knowing they would return to that very spot the next day, as they would pillage and then raze the town. However, the pirate desired to test his new spell, and so when they were upon the water and a good distance from shore, he stood in the middle of his boat and shouted as loudly as he could the words the wind-weaver had given him.

He did not know that language of the north and the east, and so he did not understand that those words were not the spell to weave gentle wind, but a spell to bring storms. And the wind-gods heard, and the thunder-god too, and they gathered together in response. Their call was the call of the greatest thunder, and they roared and pounded the sea with their fists, and the air was dark and filled with flashes of the brightest lightning. The sea heard this, and it lifted its hands and swept up the ships and brought them deep down to the bottom, where no man would ever see them again.

The man who wove wind sat on his rock on the shore and watched this. When he knew that his enemies were gone and his people were safe, he whispered the wind-song. His words were carried on the breeze, and soon the darkness went away, and the wind was made gentle, and the sea was made still.

The stories carried on after that day, but no raider dared attack the town again as long as the wind-singer lived.


	5. Blue Suede, PolEst

Summary: Oh my gawd, shoe shopping. Estonia lost a bet and has to make up for it. Pol/Est, rated E for Everyone.

Notes: This was written for my wife. Written October 2009, revised July 2010.

**Blue Suede**

"Oh my god, they're too cute!"

Estonia smiled as he watched Poland twirl dramatically in front of the full-length mirror, then stop to admire the shoes on his feet, all the while letting out an almost endless stream of happy sounds. Though it felt as if everyone in the shop was watching the two of them, somehow Estonia didn't mind... much.

The source of Poland's pleasure was a pair of ankle boots. Blue suede. High heels. Ridiculously expensive. Estonia tried not to think about it. He'd made a bet on some silly matter of no consequence and lost it, and in retaliation Poland had demanded a gift. When he thought back on it, Estonia really wondered what had ever possessed him to make such a deal in the first place. Well, it didn't matter.

His thoughts were cut off when Poland latched onto him in a tight hug. "These ones!" Poland said, grinning widely. "These are totally the ones."

Estonia laughed in spite of himself. "Are you sure?" he replied.

"Absolutely."

"Then they're yours."

"Mmhm. 'cause you promised." Poland smirked and leaned in to mutter by his ear. "You are so getting kissed when we get home. I'm serious."

Estonia blushed red as a pepper at that, and even after they had paid and left the store he remained flustered, knowing that Poland would follow through with his promise.


	6. Winter's Colours, Estonia

Summary: Estonia considers his flag and Nordic-influenced redesigns that were proposed for it.

Notes: The topic of the Nordic cross redesign ideas for the Estonian flag came up (for the third time) on a message board that I frequent, so I wrote this.

**Winter's Colours**

Designs on the screen. Different permutations of the same colours. All were arranged in that familiar form, the Nordic cross flag. That design. His colours.

Estonia leaned back in his chair and took a good look at them. Though the redesign of his flag was an idea that had never really taken, he still took a look at the possibilities on occasion. Thought about them. Wondered what it might be like if the redesign went through. Wondered if it would change anything.

He remembered what Finland had said upon hearing the idea, upon seeing the designs. "Trying to pass yourself for Nordic again, Viro?" They had laughed it off, the two of them, but the words did sting a bit.

That had been the plan, in a general way. Passing. The Nordic cross flags, aside from being stylish, didn't carry the same baggage the Baltic tricolours did. The same baggage he carried himself. If he could seem more like that, be more like that –

Estonia sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It wouldn't be so easy. A change of flag wouldn't change impressions.

* * *

He stood from his desk and made his way over to the large dresser on the other side of the room. In a drawer beneath a gathering of personal letters was his flag, neatly wrapped in tissue paper. He took it out, unfolded it, held it out by the corners and studied it.

Baggage could be dealt with, Estonia decided as he looked at the blue, black and white. Respect could be gained. Impressions could be changed, and it could be done without trying to pass as something else. It was simply a matter of time and determination.

Furthermore, he thought, it wasn't a bad flag, really. He draped it over one arm and went to the window, drew up the blinds to let the cold winter sunlight in, to see the colours more clearly. As far as tricolours were concerned, his flag was unique. In fact, it looked a bit like-

He looked out the window. It was a bright day, the cloudless sky a deep, clear blue. Wind had blown branches bare of cover, leaving the pine trees outside seeming stark black against the crisp white snow.

Estonia smiled. There would not be any changes.


End file.
